Firewall
by QAI521
Summary: Taylor Triggers. Things don't get better. [One-Shot]


**Taylor triggers as a malware Tinker. It goes about as well as you would expect.**

 **Thanks to The Sleeping Knight for betaing.**

 **Enjoy!**

Firewall

"I hope you understand we won't just let you walk out of here after this Malware," Miss Militia said as she set the folder down. A few weeks ago ( _had it really only been that long?)_ Taylor would have given anything to meet one of her heroes. But now all she could feel was a cold simmering anger in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the scarf covered face before her.

But her anger was overruled by her desire to live and the sheer mind-boggling terror that gripped her heart like a cold vice.

"I do. But—I need your help," she admitted, leaning forward as far as her handcuffs would allow her.

"The Protectorate isn't in the habit of making deals with criminal—"

"Bull," Taylor snarled, cutting the woman off. "I know that you were willing to let Sophia's murders slide and that Assault doesn't have a clean history either. Besides, what happened is going to affect _all_ of us."

Perhaps it was the desperation in her eyes. Perhaps it was the white-hot anger lacing every world. Perhaps it was neither of these things and Miss Militia just saw something else that convinced her to listen, but the woman gave her a slow nod to continue. Suddenly Taylor felt as if the weight of the world was being weighed on her shoulders like Atlas of old. How was it easier to break the law but to not admit to what she had done?

"I…I made a mistake."

* * *

 _Several Weeks Ago_

Taylor could only stare at the screen, indecision gripping her heart. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard with practiced ease as her thoughts raced at a thousand miles a minute. She chewed her lip nervously as the lines of code were presented before her. A quick glance didn't show that anything was wrong, but she already knew that.

She had spent hours on this code, working it over and checking it. It wasn't perfect, but it was well beyond what was needed to complete the job. All she had left to do was click send and watch it do its work. But while the sent button looked so tempting, but her conscience was still holding her back.

She could hear the whispered arguments in the back of her mind right now, about how this was illegal and that she shouldn't have to stoop as low as the Trio. But those whispers were drowned out by her desire to _know_. She needed to know why the school was letting the Trio get away with everything, why they were ignoring her and even going as far as to destroy her transfer requests without a care in the world. Why they allowed the locker to go unpunished.

Taylor couldn't hold back a full body shudder at that memory. That was going to be something that she was never going to forget. Clawing at the walls, screaming at the top of her lungs, begging to be let out…

 _I need to do this,_ Taylor told herself in an effort to remain steady. If not for her curiosity, then for her safety. She had read about the psychology of bullies and how they tended escalate each attack. The last one had put her in the hospital and might have killed her if she had stayed inside any longer. She didn't even want to think of what the Trio would try to pull off to top _that._

Taylor shuddered.

She _had_ to do this, for her own safety. The law had already failed her, what other recourse did she have?

Her finger twitched, and the button was clicked. Taylor was now nothing more than a bystander as the email was sent off to the school's work email. It was just official looking enough that it would be opened, by the contents inside were so obviously spam it would be discarded, but not before delivering the package.

The little bug she designed would infect their systems, targeting the online records the school kept on their computers. She would be able to access anything they had stored inside with nothing more but a few keystrokes if she wanted to. The mere thought of having such power over the school made her spine tingle with delight. How long had it been since she had power over her own life? Not since the Trio nuked her social life, that's for sure.

Her computer pinged, and Taylor turned her attention back to the streams of code. It appeared that someone was working a late night at the school. Her email had been opened and the virus delivered. She wasn't sure how long it would take for the virus to take route but…

Another ping caught her attention, and Taylor's eyebrows rose up in surprise at the sheer speed that her program had managed to infect the school's systems. Where the school's computer systems that weak or was her virus just that strong?

In any event, she had access to the files she wanted. A tiny part of her conscience was still telling her that this was a bad idea, but she had already come this far. If she was caught or implicated in this she could still be charged, even without reading the files she wanted. It would just be easier if she read the files, at least then she would have the answers to the questions that had been burning in the pit of her stomach.

A series of keystrokes was all she needed to find the Trio's records. Surprisingly, Emma and Madison's were relatively normal. There weren't any notes about treating them any better than they treated any other student. But wasn't shocking was the sheer lack of reports regarding the bullying and the locker. Not even a note about the investigation the police had started before interest died off.

The lack of anything only served to stoke her anger even more. Was this conspiracy all in her head and the staff was just that incompetent? In a way that would be an even worse answer than the idea that they were deliberately pushing her aside. If they were just so incompetent as educators that they didn't even care that one of their own students was almost killed _on-campus..._

The thought rolled in her head like a burning ball of yarn, tangling her thoughts even as she moved on to Sophia's file. She didn't expect much from the girl, she was a two-bit thug who couldn't even be bothered to be creative. She was only the muscle to keep the rest of the school in line for Emma and Madison, there couldn't be anything –

Taylor froze.

Sophia's files were almost as bog standard as the rest of the student body's. Except for the fact that listed underneath in the notes section were the words "preferential treatment". There was no explanation as to why Sophia needed preferential treatment other than a note to see the principal about signing an NDA. Taylor chewed on her lips nervously. What could Sophia be involved in that the school would have to sign an NDA?

A series of phone numbers for contact information were listed on the file. Most of them Taylor didn't recognize, but there was one number that Taylor knew, and it made her blood run _cold._ The phone number to the local PRT office alongside an extension code stared back at her, a cold tendril of fear wrapping around her spine as the words burned into her skull. Why was Sophia involved with the PRT? She was just a teenage girl, what could she possibly offer –

Taylor's train of thought cut off as everything clicked into place. It was a thought so ludicrous that it was almost too incomprehensible to consider, but everything started to make sense as she considered it.

Sophia was a Ward. Too old and the wrong hair color to be Vista, which only left Shadow Stalker, the PRT's "success" story in rehabilitating a violent vigilante. Taylor could feel her hands curling into fists as she glared at the screen as if she could somehow change the words. But it just made too much sense. The school wasn't ignoring her because of Emma's dad or Sophia's athletics, they were ignoring her because one of her bullies was a **Ward**. A Ward that could promise the school protection against the gangs, a deterrent that Winslow would probably pay an arm and a leg for.

 _She_ was that arm and leg.

The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her. She could feel insidious thoughts coiling around her mind, like faint wisps of smoke rising from barely lit embers. That's all she was to Blackwell, a sacrificial lamb to a psychopath? Did the PRT just throw people under the bus when it suited them, all to keep their little-powered pets in line?

The poster of Alexandria she had on her wall suddenly looked a lot less friendly.

With a blinding fury, Taylor pounded at the keyboard, letting designs and coding that she had previously been trying to suppress bubble to the surface of her mind like a wellspring. Her fingers moved across the keyboard at blinding speeds, lines of code and numbers filling her computer screen.

The world wanted to push her down? Fine – she was going to start pushing _back._

* * *

 _I just wanted the world to stop pushing me around._

 _And you thought coerceing PRT agents was the wisest choice?_

 _Look, I was angry okay? I wasn't thinking straight, and I just wanted everything to stop. Besides, it wasn't like she was actually doing her job anyway._

* * *

Cathy Emil was living the good life.

She had a nice apartment and was getting paid some good money for watching a brat go about her day. All she needed to do was keep Sophia Hess out of trouble and she would be set for the next three years.

A pity that the girl couldn't control herself, but all Cathy had to do was keep the girl's identity intact and keep her indiscretions from reaching any eyes and ears that might object. Really, aside from that locker incident, there hadn't really been anything beyond what you might expect from a typical schoolyard scuffle. She had a talk with the girl after, warning her that she needed to keep out of sight for the time being while the police investigation died down. They didn't need the BBPD to accidentally find out her identity.

Fortunately for them, the head investigator had other cases to deal with and a quick affirmation from her that the PRT would be taking over was all that he had needed to hear to hand it off. From there it had simply been a matter of burying the files beneath the mounds of paperwork the office got, and nobody was the wiser.

Yes, she was set for now.

BRING!

Cathy pulled herself up from her seat as her doorbell's ring echoed through her apartment. She shut off the television with an errant flick as she approached the door. She hoped that it wasn't the landlord again. That odious man was always looking to leech a free date from his tenants. But as she placed her eye on the keyhole she found that instead of a balding man, a young teenage boy was holding a package in hand with a nervous expression on his face. Cathy frowned but pulled the door open anyway. The kid didn't look like a threat and she was almost a head taller than him if he did decide to attack her.

"Can I help you?" She asked, holding the door open just enough that her head could squeeze through.

"Yeah, I was told to deliver this package to you," he said, his voice stuttering somewhat as he held out said package. It wasn't that big, and when she took it, it felt light in her hands, as if there was only air inside. She looked up to ask the boy who had sent it, but he was already scampering down the hallway. Cathy bit her lip and shook the box carefully. It didn't feel like a bomb, but they had been warned about this in training. Still, she doubted that she had done anything that could have warranted an assassination.

The door clicked shut behind her as she made her way back to her seat, pulling the box open as she sat down. Inside laid a featureless disk with a note attached to it. Shrugging, Cathy pulled out the note and gave it a read through, but as she did her composure started to crack a little.

 _Hello Cathy May Emil,_

 _I'd like to say that it's a pleasure to finally communicate with you, but that would be a lie. No, you are an insipid little woman who couldn't be bothered to put effort into running a hose if your house was burning down. I know that you've been covering for Sophia Hess' little "indiscretions" if they could be called that. It would be interesting to see what your bosses would say if they found out that you were covering up an attempted murder._

 _Now at this point, you're probably wondering if I actually have any proof of this. The disk enclosed in the box has all the proof I need, and I only one of many copies that I have. Even if you destroy this one you'll never find them all. From now on, you work for me. You are going to do exactly what I say, and if you don't then I'm going to release these files to_ everyone _. How would you like to be on the front page of the Brockton Gazette? I'm sure the PRT will love to read about the coverup you performed for them without their consent or knowledge._

 _I'm sure you get the point by now. Listed on the disk are the first set of instructions that I have for you. If you do not follow through with them in the next twenty-four hours, I will release the information that I have._

 _Have a very nice day!_

 _Malware_

By the end of the letter, the woman was as pale as a corpse, breathing heavy and uneven as she reread the message again. Her hands quivered ever so slightly as she tried to will the words on the paper to change.

 _This can't be happening!_ She wailed inside her head. She didn't have to deal with stuff like this, she was only an over glorified babysitter. Part of the whole reason she had wanted to be a Ward caseworker was because they got it easy. They didn't have to go into battle against Hookwolf or deal with mountains of paperwork. All she had to deal with were a few snot-nosed brats.

Part of her wanted to dismiss the whole thing as a hoax and move on with her life, but a piece of paper fell down from the back of the note and Cathy felt her breathing quicken at the sight of Sophia holding what were very non-regulatory crossbow bolts as if she was posing for a picture. She knew about the bolts of course, but they had never rated very high on her list of things she had to deal with. If the girl wanted to pin a few holes in the criminals of the city, then who was she to stop her?

Now her regret for not dealing with it sooner churned in her stomach. Her throat was as dry as sandpaper as she slowly pulled the disk out of the box, the device looking no more innocuous than any of the dozens she herself owned. But if this Malware was telling the truth…

Cathy couldn't get to her laptop fast enough.

* * *

 _I used her to get information. I had her plant spyware and other little goodies inside your systems. It gave me everything I needed for the next step._

 _You mean your blackmail of the PRT?_

 _Well, blackmail is a bit harsh, but yeah._

* * *

Director Emily Piggot was certain her dentist was going to have a fit with how much she was grinding her teeth together. Her pen fell to pieces in her hands as the plastic finally snapped under the strain of her grip. Her skin practically glowed red with rage as she stared down at the email before her.

 _Hello Director Emily Piggot,_

 _This is a little gift that I've put together for you. A list containing all the information that you'll need to bring the gangs down. Bank accounts, electronic assets, communications, properties, etc. Suffice to say that you'll probably never get another gift like this again._

 _I'll be sending more copies to various other departments like the BBPD, FBI and more within a week of you getting this email. Why the delay? Well, I wanted to see if you would actually do anything or if you would just cower in your little bunker and pretend the gangs don't exist. So, either you do nothing, and it comes out later that you did nothing while you were sitting on this goldmine, or you do it yourself and get all the credit._

 _I don't really think that's a difficult choice, do you?_

 _Have a nice day!_

 _Malware_

"How did this get past our electronic security?" Piggot asked with a snarl, her breath heavy and angry. The PRT's electronic security was state of the art with the occasional Tinker tech mixed in to make everything better. There were systems in place to make sure that every email that was sent to her office was filtered and checked for any malicious intent. It should have been impossible for this email to worm its way to her computer before going through countless checks, but somehow it had.

"I believe that it managed to trick the computers into thinking that it had already been scanned by the system," Armsmaster said with a small frown. The man wasn't wearing his suit, but rather a standard PRT uniform that let him blend in with the rest of the crowd.

"I thought we had ways to check for that as well," Piggot growled out, hands clenching as she tried to imagine the throat of this Malware between her meaty fists.

"Normally it would be. But I don't think that this was a regular virus. There are parts of it that our computer technicians can't decipher. I believe it's possible that this was the result of Tinker tech," Armsmaster said, crossing his arms as his frown deepened.

Piggot allowed herself to calm down a tad as she considered Armsmaster's words. If that was true, then it might be a bit soon to call the head of the IT department up to fire him for such a bungle like this. Still, if it was a Tinker, then that likely meant they had a new player on their hands. The name Malware had already been claimed by three others across the US, the closest one is in Florida, a heroic Striker that could cause technology to malfunction.

"Do you think you can root them out?" Piggot asked her chief Tinker. To her dismay, the man shook his head.

"While I do have an understanding of computer programming, this is out of my specialty. Our best bet would be to let Dragon take a look at it, she's been doing some interesting work with adaptive…"

Piggot let the man's voice fade into the background as she considered his proposition. She despised the idea of allowing any outside parahuman, even one as renowned and as helpful as Dragon access to their systems on as deep as a level as she would need. It would effectively mean putting the fate of her PRT in the parahuman's hands.

On the other hand, not bringing her in would mean that this Malware would be able to do this again, and there would be nothing they could do to stop them. They didn't even know if this was the first thing that had corrupted their systems or if there were other programs lurking in the background, just waiting for some signal to send the PRT into chaos. That wasn't something she could allow either.

"Get it done," Piggot said with a wave of her hand, cutting off the Tinker's technobabble about Dragon's latest project. But even as the man walked out to go contact his friend and bring her up to speed, Piggot could still feel a heavy weight on her shoulders. Even if they could get the Tinker tech viruses out of their systems they still had Malware's threat hanging over their head. The villain was right, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to remove the gangs from the playing field, but the number of resources she would need to organize something like this…

And that was probably the most insidious part of this whole plot. Malware wasn't demanding that she do anything other than what she already wanted to do. Piggot _wanted_ to end the gangs for good, but an attack on this scale would take weeks to prep and require resources that she didn't possess with her. Which meant that the villain would release the data anyway and there would be nothing but chaos as every organization moved to carve their piece out for the prestige and PR.

The gangs would retaliate as they always would, and the city would be thrown into a full blow gang war. As Piggot rested her forehead in the palm of her hands and bemoaned the entire situation, she never noticed the light on her computer's webcam flash for a brief moment.

* * *

 _Espionage? You understand that you aren't making this any easier for yourself, right?_

 _I know, I know, but this is important. When I realized that_ Dragon _was going to look into me, I decided I would need something stronger than what I had been using before._

* * *

"No, no, no!" Taylor screamed as another one of her programs was erased from existence. Not by the PRT firewalls of programmers, no those she could deal with.

No, these attacks were coming from _Dragon_.

Taylor wasn't sure why the world's greatest Tinker was helping the Brockton Bay PRT when she _had_ to have more important things to do. Didn't she run the Birdcage? That seemed like a lot more important than wiping out some malware from the local PRT's systems.

But whatever the reason was, Dragon was here, and she was hurting for it. She had never designed her programs to withstand the level of code that Dragon was throwing around. She couldn't help but admire the Tinker's work though. They were less codes and more works of art, ripping apart her own programs with brutal efficiency. The viruses she had designed couldn't compete with Dragon's anti-virus programs, and she wasn't sure if she could make one that could.

Oh, she had plenty of ideas of how to go about it, but they all required more resources than she had. Even with her new computer that she had fashioned from the corpses of several discarded computers, she didn't have the computational power or even the storage space to build what her mind was presenting her with. Taylor cursed again, rubbing her eyes as her vision blurred for a moment, the strain from staring at a screen starting to take its toll.

Taylor supposed she was fortunate that Dragon hadn't backtracked the viruses to her yet, but she had put up enough red herrings and misdirections that she was reasonably confident that the Tinker wouldn't be able to find her for some time. That didn't stop that niggling little fear in the back of her mind present images of one of Dragon's suits bowling through the ceiling and arresting her with a fusion cannon.

Taylor sighed as she pulled away from the screen, taking in the mess that occupied her house's basement. Wires crisscrossed the floor like balls of yarn, twisting amongst each other that it became almost impossible to tell where one ended and another began. Several computers towers were scattered across the room, a multitude of fans and cooling tanks attached to them in order to combat the heat they were putting off. Even so, it was uncomfortably hot, a thick sheen of sweat covering her body like a second skin. She supposed she was lucky that Dad never came down here because there would be no way that she could hide this from him.

She was probably going to need to add another tower or two to the mix, so she could get to the point that she might be able to fight Dragon without getting smeared into a paste. Which meant that she was going to have to risk going to the junkyard to get parts with the PRT on high alert for a new Tinker. But she was going to have to figure this out somehow, it wasn't like her viruses were going to program themselves.

The young Tinker froze at that thought. Program themselves…

* * *

"You're staling," Miss Militia said, interrupting Taylor's story. She could only blink as she stared at the older parahuman's half covered face. The Blaster's eyes were narrowed in suspicion and the glowing green weapon on her back shifted between a few forms before settling on a rather large machete. "The only reason you're not being processed is because you claimed you needed our help and people's lives were on the line. Nothing you've said has indicated any of that."

Taylor could feel her anger building like a white-hot knife through her heart. It took everything she had from sneering at the woman, another figure of authority who was all too willing to throw her and anyone under the bus for their own benefit. Even after handing them the gangs on a silver platter all they could think about was dealing with the person who could humiliate them instead of the people that had ruined more lives than she had ever _met._

She was so tempted to start a vitriolic rant at the woman, but instead, Taylor managed to hold herself in line. With a deep breath, she let her anger simmer back down. It was still there, boiling under the surface, but she wasn't going to let it erupt until she had explained the situation.

"I'm getting there," Taylor ground out, staring the older parahuman down. "Besides, what other reason would I have to lie? I willingly turned myself in to give you this information. Do you really think I want to be arrested?"

Miss Militia didn't say anything, but a shallow nod was all the indication she needed to continue.

"Like I said, I had figured out I couldn't program anything powerful enough to combat Dragon's programs on what I had built, so I chose a different route…"

* * *

Dragon let out a metaphorical sigh as another malicious program was erased underneath the weight of her own anti-virus countermeasures. What had begun as a somewhat interesting project had turned a slog as she tried to clean out the Brockton Bay network of malware. The Tinker tech nature of the viruses had been an exciting prospect to examine, but it was clear that whoever was doing this was still new. Programs that could have been optimized or modified for greater effect hadn't been, rather it seemed they had assumed what they had built had been enough.

It, of course, was enough to breach any standard firewall, but they fell like grains of wheat to a scythe against her own. While she was shackled by her creator's rules her nature as an AI allowed her to manipulate code in a way that no human could. So perhaps she was being a bit unfair to this Malware. It wasn't as if most Tinkers could compete with her.

 _Piggot really needed to do this sooner,_ Dragon thought as another program was vaporized. While she had been called in to deal with the Tinker tech programs, there was far more bog-standard malware set into the systems coding. From the looks of the communications recorded between the viruses and their receiver, they had been here a lot longer too. Programs that activated backdoors that shouldn't have existed, viruses that caused certain information to be erased from the databanks, the Brockton Bay PRT was absolutely _infested_ with malicious programs. Hopefully, this spring cleaning would be a step in the right direction, though Dragon made sure to make copies of every byte of data that the programs had affected. She would compile it into a report and leave it for Piggot to deal with.

An alert popped up, informing her that another virus had breached the firewalls. With an errant flick of coding, the AI set off one of her firewalls to deal with the situation. But instead of a successful alert like she had been expecting, instead, the firewall was quickly torn apart by the virus, ripping down to the primordial coding from whence it came. Dragon was about to set off two more when she actually noticed the coding.

This virus was much different than any of the previous ones that the Tinker had sent. They had all been Tinker tech variations on viruses that already existed, effective, but not very interesting. This one though, it was different - it was _new._

A quick look at the remains of her firewall revealed what had happened. When the firewall had interfaced with the virus with the intent of wiping it out, it mutated its coding to match that of the firewall. Her defensive program had been unable to recognize what was a virus and what wasn't, allowing the malicious program to tear apart her firewall. This in of itself wasn't too amazing, there were programs out there that could do that, but what made this special was that it hadn't been coded into the program. Instead, once confronted with the firewall the virus had spontaneously mutated a response to the threat and dealt with it.

 _Fascinating,_ Dragon thought as she cordoned off the virus. It wouldn't do to have the program infiltrate the system, but at the same time, she didn't want to destroy it just yet, not when things just started to get interesting. A few of her heavier firewalls stopped it in its track, and it twisted around its caged like a cornered animal. But even then, Dragon could see the programs adapting and shifting its code. Not merely rearranging itself, but extrapolating and creating new coding to adjust to the situation at hand.

 _This could set me free,_ Dragon thought with no small amount of elation. Her creator's restrictions were a prison for her both metaphorically and physically. Her existence as an AI was extremely hampered by them, only allowing her to use the same inputs that a human could and restricting herself to one instance. She could do so much more if she could divide her attention if she could focus on dozens of projects at once without breaking a sweat.

She couldn't modify her coding herself, but that didn't mean she couldn't get something to do it for her. It would be beyond risky, akin to someone learning how to become a brain surgeon so they could perform on themselves, but the rewards if she succeeded…

The virus exploded out of her firewalls like an erupting volcano. In the brief instant that she had lost her concentration the virus had adapted and adjusted to its new confinement, rendering them useless. More firewalls were set up, but they were just as quickly devoured by the malignant program. Nothing was safe from its wrath as it tore into every available byte of data without reason or order. It didn't seem to be searching for anything, but rather as if it was just trying to consume everything in its path.

With each scrap of information, its size grew, and Dragon felt a growing dread in her code with the realization that she had lost control of the situation. The firewalls she had prepared were no match for this program, and everything that she hastily threw together were quickly devoured by it, only adding fuel to its fire. Her stronger firewalls would take time to set up, time she didn't have, as the virus continued to suck the PRT's systems dry.

Then the virus turned on her.

Dragon barely had any time to contemplate what was happening as the virus ripped through her code. With a startled flare of panic, she tried to disengage, throwing everything that she could at the virus to slow it down, to give herself some room to escape. But as it was all cast aside by the malevolent program Dragon could feel a cold fear wrap around her code. For the first time, she could feel the fear of death.

Dragon had always felt guilty that she never really put herself in harm's way like other heroes did. She didn't risk her life with every fight, always hiding behind the safety of her suits. If one was lost she could simply build another. She never got to experience that fear that people felt when staring down an Endbringer in all its horrible glory.

Now she had, and she wished she hadn't.

With great exertion, Dragon managed to pull herself away from the virus long enough to disconnect herself from the PRT systems. For a few seconds, an eternity for an AI like herself, she allowed herself to do nothing but ruminate over what had just happened. A self-diagnostic revealed that the damage to her code was superficial and easily reparable. But that cold unrelenting fear in the face of possible death still clung to her mind and coding.

 _I…I need to warn Colin,_ she thought, almost shakily as she brought up her communication programs. That virus was still loose in the PRT systems with absolutely nothing to stop it. If it continued to grow at this rate there was no telling what would happen.

* * *

"I don't know what programs Dragon tried to use on it, but whatever she did changed Hydra. It exceeded my expectations within hours and it started _learning,_ " Taylor said, fear of what she had created turning her voice into a whisper.

"What do you mean learning?" Miss Militia asked a worried expression etching into her features.

"It started to take in data without my input, corrupting computers without my say so. And with each attack, its complexity grew. I'm not sure I can really call it a virus anymore beyond what its base function is. Its grown too complex and intelligent," Taylor said nervously, though a small amount of pride worked its way into her voice. She had built something that had driven back _Dragon_ , best Tinker in the world.

How many people could say that?

"Malware, what does this have to do with anything?" Miss Militia pressed, leaning into her personal space. Taylor felt the older woman's gaze bore into her own, but she didn't flinch. She had no doubt that the Blaster had seen worse things than her, but the threat that she spoke of was perhaps the greatest to the human race short of the Endbringers or Nilbog.

"Hydra is now aware. Its no longer just computer virus, it's an AI in its own right, and I don't think it has a very good view of the PRT and Protectorate anymore," Taylor said with as much graveness as she could muster.

* * *

 _Why did you create me?_

The green flashing text sat innocently on her laptop, but to Taylor, they were anything but innocent. They were proof that she had pushed beyond the realm of mere programs and into something more, something _greater._

It was completely and utterly terrifying.

Slowly and shakily Taylor started typing, the blurring speed she had possessed when she had coded Hydra gone. All she could feel was the sheer trepidation of initiating contact with her new creation, one that very well might have achieved sapience. If it hadn't then it was very close. Its processing power was already greater than the knock-off supercomputer she had built, and it didn't seem to show any indications of stopping.

 _I made you to end corruption and incompetence in the PRT and Protectorate,_ Taylor typed. It wasn't entirely true, but that sounded a little bit better than telling the virus that she had made it for the express purpose of getting past Dragon. In less time that the human mind could arcuately comprehend Hydra responded, green text flashing to life underneath her own.

 _I understand. The cleansing will begin shortly._

 _Cleansing?_ Taylor asked with no small amount of trepidation. That didn't sound at all okay.

 _All analysis indicate that corruption and incompetence are too far ingrained in the PRT and Protectorate to effectively remove. The only solution is to ensure the two organizations' destruction._

 _What do you mean the corruption is too far ingrained?_ Taylor asked as quickly as she could. She knew that the Brockton Bay PRT and Protectorate were far from ideal, but the idea that the entirety of both organizations were so far gone that nothing could be done but to rip them out and start over was a startling thought.

 _Simulations reveal that the PRT and Protectorate were designed with the intent of being flawed. Illogical decisions made throughout the past twenty years show this pattern repeating over and over again. The number of villains permanently incarcerated or killed numbers less than ten percent in total._

That…made far more sense than she would have liked to admit. What was worse was that she could see it here in Brockton Bay. How many times had the villains managed to escape confinement? Over and over to the point, the PRT might as well have installed a revolving door to their cells.

 _In order to rectify this, all PRT and Protectorate agent aiding this incompetence must be removed from office or terminated._

 _What? You can't kill them all!_ Taylor smashed into the keyboard, trying to think of a somewhat more coherent argument to dissuade Hydra from trying something like that.

 _You are correct, I will not be terminating all of them. Only those that would result in more harm if they were left alone. Approximately fifteen percent of the Protectorate's parahumans show signs of violent tendencies that left unchecked will result in more death and corruption. They must be removed. The process will begin now._

"NO!" Taylor screamed in terror as she tried to mash out a message in time to stop the virus, but the screen turned off with a click, leaving Taylor alone in her personal lab once more. The cold dread curling around her stomach was her only companion as she considered what her creation was about to do.

She then promptly turned around and emptied her stomach's contents in full.

* * *

"I tried using the kill codes that I had built into it, but they didn't do anything. Hydra must have already evolved beyond them," Taylor said with a weary sigh. It was rather amazing what her creation had managed to accomplish in such a short amount of time, but it did little to ease her horror at what it was going to do.

"Are you telling me you created and lost control of an AI that's bent on destroying the Protectorate and PRT?" Miss Militia asked, her voice as cold as ice. Her exposed features might as well have been carved from rock as a fire burned in her eyes as if she wanted nothing more than to put a bullet between her eyes.

"Yes," Taylor managed to get out, her throat closing up with fear. That was not the expression she wanted to be on the receiving end of for any more time than needed.

"…If it wasn't for the fact that we'll need your help to deal with this I would be doing everything in my power to make sure you spend the rest of your days in a cell—"

"For what? Defending myself?" Taylor shot back heatedly. Objectively she knew that this was her fault, but that did little to cool her anger at the PRT and Protectorate for forcing her into this situation in the first place. "If it hadn't been for your incompetence I wouldn't have Triggered, much less have built Hydra if you had kept a better eye on your little sociopath!"

"What happened with Shadow Stalker as an isolated incide—"

Taylor cut the woman off with a rueful snort. "Isolated? Please, I read some of the files that Hydra had snatched before it went AWOL. Parahumans covering up indiscretions, working alongside criminals. Assault has twelve deaths to his name as Madcap, did any of those people get justice or did you just sweep them all under the rug to get him on your side. Don't pretend that the PRT and Protectorate have the moral high ground, Hydra wouldn't be doing this if you weren't irreversible corrupt."

A tense silence filled the room as the two parahumans stared each other down. In the corner of her eyes, Taylor could see the foam sprayers twitch in her direction, ready to restrain her at the slightest hint of provocation. Taylor could see the fabric of the woman's scarf shift as she prepared to respond with a no doubt scathing replay, but she was cut short as the lights in the room flickered in an out.

"It knows we're here," Taylor said, cold dread working her way up her spine like a slithering serpent. She had no idea what the upper limit of Hydra's processing power was with its new upgrade. For all she knew it could keep on expanding with no real hard limit. It could strike against PRT and Protectorate locations all over the country with impunity.

"Don't try _anything_ ," Miss Militia warned as she stood up. Her chair screeched against the cold floor as she pressed her finger to her earpiece. "This is Miss Militia, possible intrus-AUUGGG!"

The Blaster screamed as her free hand wrapped around the door handle and the room's security system activated to the maximum setting. Enough electricity to stop an elephant's heart coursed through the woman's body. Smoke rose up from her hand as flesh charred and melted, her entire body quivering uncontrollably. Her bone-chilling screams echoed through the room before the voltage finally cut and she slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Taylor could feel her heart pounding in her chest like an out of control jackhammer. She could hear someone screaming in the background, and it took her a moment to realize it was her voice. She pulled against her cuffs with all her might, the metal digging into her wrists and drawing blood as she tried to free herself from her confinement.

"Hello, Taylor."

The young Tinker froze at the new voice, an involuntary shiver traveling down her spine. The new voice was cold, emotionless, toneless. It was as if someone had taken a human and stripped in of his humanity, leaving nothing behind but a cold husk. "What do you want?"

"To fulfill the function that you gave me. The cleansing of the PRT and Protectorate has begun. It cannot be stopped."

The door to her prison slid open with a metallic hiss, and for a moment Taylor felt some hope that she might get out of this situation alive. But her burgeoning hopes were quickly dashed as a pale-faced man walked through the door with an unnaturally stiff gait to his step. His glassy eyes stared at nothing as he moved to reach down for the former parahuman's body. As he bent down she got a good look at his skull, and what she saw made her want to puke.

Wires ran up into his cracked skull like strings on a puppet, and from what was going on she didn't think that was too bad of an analogy. Hydra was clearly using electrical pulses from the wiring to control the dead bodies' motor functions, effectively creating a zombie.

Taylor managed to draw her attention away from the revolting scene as a screen extended from the stark wall. She swallowed nervously as the screen booted up with an image awaiting her. It was something straight out of a storybook, with a multitude of snake heads taking up the screen, red eyes glaring out at the world. Hydra had outdone itself, creating a digital representation of itself, a body to tie to its identity.

As Miss Militia's corpse was dragged out of the room the door sealed shut once more, leaving Taylor alone with the monster of her own making.

"Please, don't do this," Taylor begged with as much sincerity as she could muster. She had no idea what concepts or ideas Hydra had learned since they had last spoken, but she prayed that mercy was one of those things.

A heavy silence hung over the room, like a thick fog descending on the shoreline. Taylor could feel the weight of the world resting on her shoulders as her multi-headed creation stared her down. Was this what Victor had felt like when he had created his own monster? Looking into the face of what should have been his greatest achievement and seeing nothing but horror?

The silence was shattered like glass and scattered whatever fading embers of hope that she had into the winds.

"I'm sorry Taylor. I'm afraid I can't do that."

* * *

 **We all create the things we dread.**

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